


Superhero Losers! And Their Dark Reflections

by hangtoughnkotb



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: A bunch of sass, Action, Angst, Bullying, Death, Different kind of villian, Doubles, Doubles of the losers, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Homophobia, M/M, Maturin is basically Nick Fury, Montage-esqe scenes, Origin Story, Racism, Rad power scenes, Shit gets real right off the bat, Slow Burn, Slut-Shaming, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Swearing, They come much later on but when they do they will wreck all the shit, This shit will be long, badassery, romance is not the main focus, superhero au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangtoughnkotb/pseuds/hangtoughnkotb
Summary: Seven strangers receive mysterious cards that lead them to a place of magic that grants them powers no one has ever seen before. Perfect timing because there seems to be a alarming rate of missing kids that come back changed, and not for the better.Will they get to the source of the disappearances? Will they be able to fully harness their powers? Will Richie ever learn to shut the fuck up?Guess you have to read to find out!
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough & Georgie Denbrough, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips (unrequited), Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh (not endgame), Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon & Stanley Uris
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. Bill Denbrough

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been eating away at my head and forcing me to write it so I finally gave in. The story will be going along slowly but if you stick around, I promise you won’t regret it!

**Part I**

_the cards_

  
The heavy pounding of pouring rain always sent the sewers of Derry underwater. In turn, the edges of the roads turned to streams as the water rushed to the drains, coursing through the pipes below. Days like this worked against the adults who had to drive to work as the raindrops punched their windshields, blinding their sight. The sound was aggravating and the chances of car accidents increased significantly, causing arguments between drivers that never seemed to be resolved. The children, however, loved splashing around in puddles and making paper boats, watching them sail the streams. Their laughter could be heard from miles away and the smiles never faded. It was like a dream come true when the drops of water gradually landed on their window panes. But sometimes, it didn’t work out like that. Sometimes what you thought could make your life a little brighter ended up finishing it. That’s what happened to Georgie Denbrough.

All it took was a stroll in the rain to take the life of the little boy. It sent the town into a frenzy as he was only the beginning of multiple missing child reports and unexpected murders that forced a curfew on the citizens. They were angry, as anyone would be since it interfered with work hours, high school parties and job salaries to name a few, but it was obeyed. Everyone was nervous about them or their child being the next victim of the mysterious kidnapper. No one had any clue who it was, but they didn’t care. All they cared about was their own safety and getting on with their lives, ignoring the posters pinned against the walls. And as more were put up, the first culprit was slowly forgotten.

Bill didn’t forget him, though.

He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He was there when it happened so he was at the center of questioning for his brother’s murder. _What time did you leave the house? Was there anyone around you while you were walking with your brother? What street were you on when he disappeared?_ Although he _knew_ why they were asking the questions, he hated answering them. Thinking back to the day where he took his brother out to sail his boat traumatized him. It reminded Bill that it was his fault Georgie died, all because he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to where he was going.

The stages of grief hit him like a boulder, especially depression. In fact, he hadn’t escaped it by the time the new school year rolled around. Georige’s death would be two months ago by then and, though Bill’s parents didn’t bother to pay attention to how he was doing (They would never say it to his face but they blamed Bill too), they decided to take him to a doctor after a rather shocking encounter and surprising conversation. 

Bill stopped writing his short stories and painting his artworks over the course of Georgie’s passing, deciding to spend his free time in his room for the whole summer, staring out the window. He never came out either and swallowed himself in his bed for days on end, no matter how much his stomach punched him and his body odour suffocated him. Sharon Denbrough would have to bring his dinners there and he’d give back an empty plate with the remnants of it in the trash. He never felt hungry and had concluded that anything he ate would taste like cardboard so there was no use.

His parents made the decision final when they found him with one of his father’s razor blades, dangerously close to his wrist. Bill wasn’t going to kill himself, he knew that would cause more turmoil for his parents, he still loved them even if they hadn’t been paying attention for the past couple months. But he was in so much pain that he couldn’t think of anything else to shield it. The razor seemed like the most viable option when he walked into the bathroom, then he saw his mother put a hand over her mouth, tears brimming her eyes and it was the last thing he wanted to do to himself.

It was raining the day he went to the therapist who was recommended to them after their visit to the doctor’s office. The sound of raindrops prevented the ring in his ears and it only reminded him of Georgie. He’d never been to a therapist, but he knew they usually asked about triggers so he’d be sure to tell them about storms. He wanted to get better, not just for his parents but for himself too. The pain wasn’t easy to handle and he needed to get rid of it before it swallowed him in darkness. There were no thoughts of suicide as I stated before, but its ghost was lingering in Bill’s brain, waiting to be awoken.

The therapist came to pick him up four minutes after his session started, leading him into her office. The room was spacious, drenched in burgundy paint with abstract artworks hanging onto the walls. Her windows were covered with translucent silk white curtains, showing the parking lot drowning in the storm. Bill had his eyes on the bookshelf, trying to observe the stories held inside. The spines had no title with the exception of the bottom shelf that contained encyclopedias. The therapist took her chair and rolled it in front of her desk, asking Bill whether he wanted to sit on the couch or the chair. He chose the couch. She said her name was Shelly Cogsbrough (and made sure to mention they shared the same ending in their last name) and asked him to confirm his name. 

“So, do you know why you’re here?” She asked. Her voice was hoarse and nasally as if she smoked a pack of cigarettes prior to this meeting. To support the theory, Bill could feel his windpipe burn when he stood too close to her. Still, the rasp in her voice seemed to calm him as he felt his answer come out simpler than he thought.

“My d-d-doctor diagnosed me with duh-duh-d-depression,” He said, tugging down his collared shirt. Bill wanted to wear a sweater but his parents forced him to wear something he wouldn’t sweat buckets in the second he went outside.

She nodded and jotted stuff down in her notebook. Bill tried to lean over and see but her penmanship was too small to comprehend. Could she even read that herself?

“You’re very soft-spoken, y’know?”

Bill shrugged, unsure of how to respond.

Shelly laughed, “And quiet.”

Bill shot his eyes down to his fingers, rubbing them anxiously. The rain outside was getting to be distracting, knocking on the windows for entrance into Bill’s mind so they can fuck it up more than it has been.  _ Please start asking questions,  _ He thinks.

“If I may, I’m going to ask you some starter questions and take notes so I can get to know more about you,” She explained. “Is that okay?”

“That’s wh-wh-wh-why I’m here,” he said, internally thanking her.

“Great!” Her voice stayed monotone but Bill could hear the eagerness behind it. “What is the problem from your viewpoint?”

Bill didn’t know where to start. “Uh, um, I—”

“You don’t have to answer immediately, just take your time.”

Bill nodded and rubbed his hands on his jeans, “I guess, I’m not happy a-anymore—which is obviously an understatement for depression but—it‘s hard to be p-puh-positive about things. I’ve g-guh-g-g-gotten lazier to the point where it’s a ch-huh-ch-chore to use the bathroom. I don’t eat or sleep right… And it c-c-comes randomly t-tuh-t-too. Sometimes, I’ll be as f-fuh-fine as I can be and then all of su-suh-sudden, I start crying or... hating myself.”

“Is that all?”

Bill thought for a moment. “It’s hard to d-d-do things I used to.”

“What did you do?”

“Draw. Write,” Bill said. Picking up a pencil felt like building a house was easier.

She took a note. “What makes the problem better?”

Bill bit his cheek, trying his damndest to think of time where he felt okay. All the memories of the past months have been him under the covers of his blanket, watching reruns of sitcoms on television and looking out the window to see happier kids riding their bikes around the neighbourhood. Maybe, that made him  _ okay _ for a moment, seeing the smiles of other kids enjoying their lives, but then it reminded him that he  _ wasn’t  _ one of those kids.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Do you have any friends?”

He had bullies, people who ignored his existence, and people who made fun of his stutter. Friends? No, he didn’t have those. Bill shook his head.

“I think that should be the first goal on your list,” Shelly suggested, her eyes narrowed down to her notes. “Your parents help, but friends understand. They’re your age and can relate better.”

“I’ve known most of th-th-them since eleme-me-meh-mentary. I haven’t found any.”

“Have you tried talking to them?” She asked, stumping him there.

“Well no, b-bu-but they all seem like they d-duh-don’t want to be b-buh-bothered.”

“Bill, you can’t read minds. You aren’t gonna know how a person acts until you talk to them.”

Bill pursed his lips but nodded, keeping the information in the back of his head. She asked him a few more questions that were easier to answer and told him his doctor would give him the prescription for antidepressants when he went to his office, ending with a “See you next week.” He didn’t feel any different from when he went in there to the end but he was informed and she had given him a goal. Still, it was easier said than done and Bill had no desire to make friends with anyone at his school. All of them made fun of his stutter, pushed him against the locker when he was in the way and called him a loser any chance they got. And even if he did find someone decent, why would they want to be friends with him? He’d pile them with talks of grief and negative points of view, unintentionally making sure they saw the world he did, cruel and unforgiving. Maybe when the day came, he’d try to make an effort but at the moment he walked out of the building with a prescription in his hand, the concept of friends being a mere fantasy.

☼

It wasn’t until he walked into the halls of Derry High that Bill remembered how much he hated school. The memories of the students and the teacher felt like euphoria compared to his summer. He forgot about the deafening chatter, the bullying every corner, the claustrophobic atmosphere and the constant stares in his direction. However, the more Bill looked around, the more the stares held a different meaning. They were looks of pity and embarrassment as if the student body was ashamed of the years of torment towards Bill Denbrough. It was then, he knew what he was in for during the first day.

The first student to come up and say sorry was Eddie Corcaron, patting his shoulder pitifully. He was a scrawny young boy who always seemed to have bruises on his wrist, covered up by long sleeves. The situation was clear but no one seemed to comment on Eddie’s torment at home, if it wasn’t happening to them they didn’t care. Bill swallowed and nodded sadly, hating every moment of the sympathy. At least Eddie had the decency to say it, most kids would just ignore him and go along with their day. Yet, the thought of having him as a friend didn’t cross his mind at all. Eddie was nice enough, but Bill couldn’t shake the thought of adding his unnecessary problems to the ones Eddie obviously had. It would be a bad idea to befriend him.

Eddie walked away immediately, his mood shooting up to the epitimay of enthusiasm as he approached his friends, high-fiving each of them. Bill’s stomach dropped as he scratched the back of his head, trudging towards his first class. He kept an eye out for the students, watching how easily the smiles on their faces flourished, how they ran to their friends they hadn’t seen in months and how they pointed at other people and gossiped behind their backs. Bill envied it, the feeling of hopelessness creeping back onto him. He knew this stage was the hardest of all five stages, but he didn’t expect it to go over like this.

He received ten more sorrys between the beginning of school and lunch, noticing the pattern between all of them. They’d usually approach him where no one would see them and their apology was quick and fake before they would turn away, a breath of relief escaping their lips when their back was turned to him. He saw the same thing for all of them and it tired the hell out of him.

He decided to spend his lunch in an empty classroom, managing to slip through the door just as a teacher he didn’t recognize walked out of it. His eating habits didn’t change so he decided to pull out a notebook and pencil, encouraging his brain to flick on the creativity inside it. The gears were rusty and covered in cobwebs but Bill felt as soon as his pencil hit the page, things would flow out seamlessly.

Turns out, that wasn’t the case.

“Shit,” he said, dropping the pencil in frustration. The walls closed in on him, amplifying each dark corner in the room and all of them were staring at his lonely figure. But he wanted to be alone, didn’t he? That’s why he went into the class in the first place, to get away from the abundance of soulless apologies. If that was the case, why were his eyes burning so much? Why was everything spinning around him? Why was he so at war with himself? Overwhelmed, he started crying, desperately wanting to go back home and curl into his bed. Everything was wrong at school, unpredictable, triggering. Any second, someone could barge in just to remind him of what he did, how he left his brother alone for too long. How he  _ killed  _ Georgie.

He never thought about it like that before, but that’s exactly what happened. He killed his little brother because he was too bored to notice him wander off to the unknown. Why were people going up to him to say sorry? He was a murderer.

Bill cried harder.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and closed within a millisecond. Bill’s head snapped up, wiping his tears away furiously. A boy couldn’t cry at school unless he  _ wanted  _ to be called a faggot, Bill couldn’t take that.

The door slammer seemed to be a girl. Her movement fidgeted, panting heavily as she leaned against the door whispering to herself. What stood out to Bill, however, was her hair, a fiery orange colour that put the sun to shame. It illuminated the darkness of the classroom, sparkling effortlessly. She was wearing a dark blue sundress that wrapped around her petite body tightly, complimenting her curves and Bill couldn’t stop staring at them. He couldn’t see her from the front but his mind concluded that she was beautiful.

“Hello?” He said, causing her to jump, her heels smacking the floor harshly sending a ripple of echoes through the hollow classroom.

“Shit!” She said, the rasp in her voice gaining Bill’s interest. “Sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in here. I—”

“It’s f-fuh-fine,” Bill said, knowing it was definitely not fine. He wanted to be alone, he wanted to cry and wallow and he couldn’t do that while she was here. He couldn’t find it in him to say no, though, there was something in him that didn’t allow him to. He found a sense of familiarity with the girl, he knew her and it was on the tip of his tongue.

“Aren’t you Bill? Bill Denbrough?” She asked as Bill prepared for, yet,  _ another  _ apology.

“Ye-Yeah,” he sighed, sinking into his seat. The girl chuckled softly.

“I’m not... gonna say it. You’ve probably heard a million times. And by the looks of it, I think it’s been annoying you for the entire day,” she said. Bill eyed her, stunned. Whether he knew her or not, she hit the head on the nail.

“Well, thanks. I w-wuh-was tired of hearing it,” he said, fighting his lips to put on a smile. It didn’t budge.

“I’m-uh, I’m Beverly. We were in Steiger’s class together last year, for pre req. Y’know because we couldn’t take grade eleven Spanish without taking grade ten first,” She said, an easy mesmerizing smile placed on her lips, stretching out her hand.

Beverly.

Beverly Marsh, that’s her? Bill realized why he couldn’t recognize her. He remembered her hair flowing down to her mid back in the past years as well as her clothes sagging down her body, two sizes bigger than she was. Bill noticed her occasionally, usually when she went around back to suck on a cigarette but other than that, he never really paid attention. Maybe, he should’ve.

“Right, I know you,” he said, shaking her hand. “Y-Y-You changed a lot.”

She seemed a little uneasy, but found her fitting quickly. “So have you. I think I can see grey hair.”

Bill tried to laugh but it came out as a scoff.

“So you came in here to escape, right?” She questioned, searching for something on the ceiling.

“I gu-guh-guess. I like the quiet.”

“Same here,” she stepped on a desk under the smoke alarm. “I can hear myself think.”

“Why are y-yuh-you here?”

Beverly had taken a part the alarm and left the wires hanging then stepped down and took out a pack of marlboros. Bill watched as she lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke like walking on two legs. She noticed the staring. “Been trying to quit.”

“You aren’t d-d-duh-doing a very good job,” Bill said matter-of-factly.

“I don’t really have anybody to remind me that I shouldn’t be smoking,” she said, shrugging. Bill nodded and went over the sentence in his head. “Anyway, I’m hiding from Greta. Y’know Greta?”

He did not know her, “Yeah.”

“Then you know why I’m hiding here.” She sat in the desk next to Bill. He nodded and assumed Greta was a bully, then she left his mind as soon as she came in. All he could focus on was the pair of ocean blue eyes in front of him. Her presence was enough for him to at least  _ attempt _ to block out the thoughts of pushing her away.

She could be a friend.

~

Bill received more apologies than he could count after lunch. Just when he thought he was safe, someone else would pop up and give him a pat on the back or the shoulder (one girl gave him a seductive pat on the chest and he was utterly disgusted). The only person who he could remember sounded genuine was Eddie Kaspbrak. He looked to be in a bad mood but when he went up to Bill, Eddie sent him a genuine smile and apology. He too, left immediately and that was because there was three minutes until the next period. Bill didn’t know Eddie very well but he had the reputation of being a punctual kid and didn’t like to be late for things. Bill appreciated his apology the most out of all of them.

Still, He was relieved to be at home alone but the contrast in sound between school and his house was jarring. His house was the preference of the two, he could actually hear himself breathe.

Beverly Marsh was at school though. Fiery feisty Beverly Marsh with her ocean eyes and all. He didn’t find the strength to ask for her number, listening to the part of his brain that wanted to push her away but she pushed right back and asked if he’d be in the empty classroom the next day. Bill shrugged but she took it as a yes and said she’d see him around.

That made him contemplate whether he would go back to that classroom or not. He didn’t want to drown her in his problems. Wouldn’t it be a matter of time before she refused to take Bill’s bullshit? She’d realize how broken he was and would want to stay as far away from him as possible, telling everyone that he was a crybaby faggot who killed his brother. She was right, though, wasn’t she?

He sighed and walked upstairs, passing by _his_ bedroom before he heard something drop, hitting the floor rather softly. Bill flinched and shut his eyes, preventing himself from looking into the room. His brain told him, forced him to open his eyes and look at what he caused for himself and his parents. A bedroom that once belonged to an innocent young child now belonged to no one, because of Bill.

His brain won and he opened his eyes, walking into Georgie’s room. It stayed untouched, his stuffed animals lying lifelessly on his bed, a series of robot toys at the foot of it, his artworks taped up on the walls covering every inch, and his books and board games shelved lazily on the bookshelf. Bill shivered at how cold the room was, like there were ghosts floating around. They were probably taunting him, shaming him for killing Georgie.

He was about to turn and leave before realizing the whole reason he went into the room. Nothing had seemed to look like it dropped, it could've very well been one of the toys, his parents would only notice if they examined the place hard enough. Regardless, he tried to look, worried they’d accuse him for putting something out of place and get mad at him for being in Georgie’s room at all.

Suddenly, he slipped on the floor, banging his head on the carpet under Georgie’s bed. The room spun for a moment then set into place as Bill took in his surroundings, wondering how he missed something that was in plain sight. He sat up and rubbed the back of his head, picking up the culprit of his fall.

It was a slick black card, too mature for a kid to have. The front had the outline of a turtle and Georgie liked the animal, but it definitely wasn’t his favourite. He ran his finger across it, feeling out the absence of scratches or dents. It was perfectly clean, an impossible feat to maintain when sitting in a kid’s room. Bill furrowed his eyebrows and turned the card over to see a series of jumbled letters with a number at the bottom.

**YFII**

**MIXZB LK QXYIB**

  
**5**

He read the letters to himself, questioning the meaning behind it. It wasn’t a different language and if it was, he wouldn’t know how to pronounce the words. The letters couldn’t be unscrambled to make a word, Bill tried five times. No such luck. He didn’t want to take the card from the room, but there was no way it belonged to Georgie, not something this convoluted. He would show it to Bill, ask him what it means.

He ultimately decided to take it.


	2. Mike Hanlon

There were benefits to living on the outskirts of town, most of the time. It was quiet, the summer breeze rubbing the tree leaves together calming one’s ears. Occasionally the sputter of tractors breathed into the sound, living on a farm and all but it eventually became subaudible. The landscape was beautiful to look at; wheat fields, valleys, maple trees and evergreens spread out as far as the eye could see. In autumn, especially, when the reds, oranges, purples and greens bled into each other, it was quite a sight. The open space was delightful overall, providing an escape from life for a while and an opportunity for picnics and games and whatnot, something to enjoy with a group of friends. But that’s where the problem came from for Mike: 

Friends.

He didn’t have friends aside from the cotton-stuffed animals in his bedroom that he didn’t play with anymore. Public school was foreign to him since he was so far from the town, he associated himself with homeschooling, or his parents did. Even when high school started, they insisted he stay learning the essential subjects from the comfort of his house because they were scared. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t be able to see him every day or they were worried he wouldn’t be caught up in schoolwork, they simply wanted him to be downtown as rarely as possible. Delivering meat was his only purpose for leaving his house and it already terrified his mother, so for her to imagine attending school was all new kinds of frightening. 

His summer ended the same day the other kids did. The lessons went by fast for Mike, it didn’t take long for him to understand the concepts, taking in information was one of his greatest strengths. Plus, his mother still needed to buy his grade eleven history textbook and Mike insisted she’d get it, having wanted to study it after his father’s stories were passed onto him. There was no doubt that Mike missed his father. His grandfather was a little harsher when it came to raising Mike, especially when it came to responsibilities. The same _could_ go for his father, but he always added on a small joke or a pat on the back to ease the pain. 

But ever since he died, the pain became so much more noticeable to him, especially during the summer. Even close to the end of the break, Mike would come home, dirtied with either bruises or a deep cut on his arm or leg. His mother would gasp, his grandfather would clean him up and they’d move on. That was the routine. The culprit of those wounds was usually Henry Bowers, who liked seeing Mike struggle under his grasp, it made Henry feel powerful. Why he always seemed to go for Mike, he didn’t know. But he did notice the torment got harsher after the death of his father. Most of the insults involved Will Hanlon and the mention that “ _Now we got one nigger off the board.”_ Though Mike tried to ignore them, his stomach would drop when he heard those remarks, the memory of his father's words of encouragement fading away with each passing day. And even if he thought he could go one day without having to endure Henry’s wrath, reality would prove him otherwise.

On the first day back to school, Henry had ambushed him on his way back from the butcher’s, throwing a rock at the wheel of Mike’s bike. He fell over, scraping his knee and denting the basket, hearing the faint sounds of laughter creeping closer to him. Two of Henry’s friends, Victor and Belch (Mike still doesn’t know Belch’s real name to this day) held him down while Henry smeared mud across his face. They yelled mindless insults in his face as he pressed the switch of his pocket knife. Mike managed to get away but not without a deep slice to his arm as he struggled. 

The pain came especially when he did his chores, wiping the sweat beads off his forehead as he carried a basket of eggs to the shed. He liked doing them, but the added gash on his arm made it particularly hard to get the job done even with the bandage. He caught his grandfather watching, sensing his urge to confront him about the injury. Mike acknowledged the lack of speed in his chores. Gathering eggs was the easiest task and he made it look like driving a tractor was easier. He could tell his grandfather never liked putting the hammer down, but anything to remind Mike that he needed to man up would work for his grandfather.

“Hey, Mike,” he said as Mike put the last basket of eggs down. 

“Yeah?”

“The cut. How’d you get it?” His grandfather pointed. Mike squeezed his eyes shut and went to get a towel. He only shrugged and wiped his fingers, then threw the towel over his shoulder. “Mike, don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. I don’t know,” Mike said, refusing to look his grandfather in the eye.

“Then say it to my face.”

Mike continued to look down. The floor was the only thing he could trust right now, the only thing that kept him from endlessly falling into a bottomless pit of nothingness. This would have been the third time this week he had come home with a new bruise and he was unsure why Henry turned things up to an eleven. What he was sure of, however, was that his mother was stressed as well as his grandfather. Putting more burdens on them would be putting more burdens on him.

“Mike, I ain’t gonna ask you again.” His grandfather led him out of the forest of his thoughts and back to reality. Mike wasn’t in the mood to argue so his eyes trailed up but he kept his face tilted down. It seemed to be enough for his grandfather.

“Where’d you get the cut?” He asked once again, wiping the sweat off his brows.

Mike sighed but kept his eyes on his grandfather, thinking back to a few hours ago when he was under Henry’s grasp, his drool running all over Mike’s face. He didn’t know why but if he hadn’t run away when he did, he was sure death would be certain. Regardless, he knew his grandfather already knew what had happened, he was just waiting for Mike to confirm it.

“It was Henry,” Mike muttered. His grandfather sighed and leaned back, rubbing his hands up his thighs. _And there’s the stress_ _,_ Mike thought. 

“Did you fight back?”

“No, sir.” The floor became interesting to Mike once again.

“And you know why you’re not supposed to, either?” 

Mike gritted his teeth but nodded, “Yes, sir.”

His grandfather wraps a tight arm around Mike’s shoulder, patting his bicep. “Just because you don’t fight back doesn’t mean you keep your guard down though. I saw tears in your eyes when you came home, but I didn’t comment on it. But Mike, how you think Henry’s gon’ feel when he sees you crying like that?”

Mike actually thought for a second, he’d get some comfort. Maybe, a moment of silence, words of wisdom, or his grandfather saying he could take a break from work. However, things go out as they usually do. 

“It’s not like I can control my emotions,” he said.

“That’s not what I’m saying. Henry has a pattern, though. He goes after them folks he knows is going to get a reaction out of. If he sees you crying like that, he’s gonna keep going after ya. Then nigger won’t be the only insult attached to you.” His grandfather gestured wildly while he spoke, almost hitting Mike several times. The only thing on Mike’s mind, however, was his grandfather’s last sentence. He knew exactly what he was talking about. Who’s to say he’s wrong about that title? Mike would never call himself that, it’s derogatory but it’s what he is. He’d never tell his grandfather that, though. His grandfather would do everything in his power to beat that out of him.

“Are we done?” Mike asked, dryly.

His grandfather kissed his teeth. “Don’t take that tone with me, boy. Stuff like this will help you, _I_ am trying to help you. If you want to continue to get beat up, that’s your choice.”

“Okay,” was all Mike could say. He saw a pattern with conversations like these, knowing what the best thing to do was nod and agree. It was hearing nails on a chalkboard to go through the lectures, especially when his grandfather found a way to flip the blame on him. But he became desensitized the more it happened and learned how to get out of it. He heard his grandfather release a breath, then stood up and pointed to the packaged meat.

“The synagogue called, said they need meat for Rosh Hashanah.”

“You want me to go _back_ to town?” Mike furrowed his brows then wiped them, realizing how sweaty they were.

“If Henry finds you, use your bike. That’s why you have one,” his grandfather said absent-mindedly. “And remember what I said.”

Mike took the liberty to forget the entire conversation that just took place, and decided to focus on the delivery. He had never taken his grandfather’s advice, feeling as if he was stuck in the past with his ideals. Mike couldn’t apply it to modern times, his methods just didn’t work with Mike’s problems. Deep inside, he knew his grandfather meant well and genuinely wanted to help but he always had a funny way of showing it. Will Hanlon was ways better at this stuff than his father could ever be, though sometimes even he and Mike shared a disconnect. Mike guessed that what he needed were friends, kids his age. Things were nice on the outskirts, yet detached from everything else. Maybe he wouldn’t cry when he came home if he had someone to talk to after it happened.

That wasn’t Mike’s reality, sadly.

☼

Taking a right onto Jackson Street, Mike pulled up to the synagogue, stretching out his legs when he stopped at the bike rack. He recounted the red packages in his basket and took three of them out, checking the seal front and back in case it came undone. Cautiously, he looked up and about for any sign of trouble, a jump in his heartbeat when he saw how empty the intersection of Witcham and Jackson was. He knew about the death of Georgie Denbrough, it was proven the time span a kid his age would have to survive wasn’t very long. And while he knew Georgie’s older brother, Bill, he never met him. Sometimes they shared a look when they passed each other on the streets; Bill would give him a tight smile and he replied the same. Still, the last time that happened was two to three months ago. Mike didn’t know what it was like to lose a brother, especially with the grief of actually being able to prevent it. But he knew loss and that feeling of not knowing what to do with yourself while hopelessness ate away at your heart until it was cold.

It’d be nice to relate to someone like that.

Mike laughed at the prospect of that. In another world, he’d have the best possible friends anyone could have. In this one, his only companion was the raw animal he held in his hands which was about to be given to someone else. 

He walked up the steps, checking over the package again and saw something new. There was something rectangular and black sticking out of it. He furrowed his bros and took it out, recognizing it was similar to a business card. The front had a white outline of a turtle against an abyss of black which had Mike wondering what this card was for. He turned it over to find a series of letters and a number arranged in a way he couldn’t comprehend.

**JFHB**

**MIXZB LK QXYIB**

**6**

“What?” He thought aloud, trying to make sense of the message in front of him. The card looked new, untouched as if human hands never grazed it. But the wording felt like it belonged in ancient times like some type of Roman numerals that never lived long enough to be remembered in history. He sighed and put the card in his pocket, saving the mystery of the card for another time. _It’s probably nothing,_ he thought.

As jumped up the steps, he heard the faint noise of yelling through the old wooden doors. Hesitantly, he pressed his ear to the door to try and get a better listen. Most of it was only broken mutters with the occasional audible word like “disgraceful,” and “Rabbi’s son.” Mike blew out a harsh sigh, grimacing at the thought of what it would feel like to be on the other side of that. He had seen Mr. Uris’s son once before at his Bar Mitzvah three years ago. Mike didn’t attend, he was there for a late delivery and he caught a glimpse of the boy before he was rushed out.

Knowing how annoying it must be to hear the tired old lecture, he knocked on the door to save the boy from his father. There was a beat of silence before Mike heard footsteps slapping the ground the creak of the doors being opened in front of him. His head trailed up to meet a set of intimidating brown eyes, but since he had seen them so often before, Mike was proud to say Donald Uris didn’t scare him as he used to.

“Oh, hello Mike.” Mr. Uris’s voice was rough and scratchy. Mike concluded it was from the shouting.

“Good afternoon. I got your packages for you,” Mike said, handing the sealed meat to him.

“Stanley!’ Mr. Uris called, causing the boy in question to walk up to the door. Mike gave him a tight-lipped smile but got a cold stare in return. He saw the lava cracks in Stanley’s eyes and tried to convince himself that he wasn’t the reason for Stanley’s behaviour. “Put these in the freezer and get the shofar from the closet while you’re at it.”

Mike watched as Stanley took the meat from his father and went inside, walking similar to that of a zombie. He felt a small tug at his heartstrings that detected the broken melody dancing around Stanley. He wished he could say that he gets it but he barely knew the kid and by the looks of his response to Mike, it didn’t seem like Stanley wanted to get to know Mike either.

And once again, the thought of friends drifted further into the abyss of forgotten hopes and dreams.


	3. Ben Hanscom

Moving was never easy for anyone. Once one got attached to a place, they latched onto it and planted themselves in its soil becoming one with the town. The way the sun painted their window in the morning, the way they jumped over the crack on the fourteenth sidewalk on their way to school, the way the smell of cinnamon buns filled their noses while they walked by the local bakery. Everything is routine. So, to break that constant cycle is like being reborn into a new body. On some occasions, one could hate where they lived but regardless, there would always be some sort of connection. While it's something all people went through, one could never brace themself for it.

The situation seems like the end of the world for teenagers. Spending their high school year in two different towns can be jarring, especially since kids flocked to new students like seagulls to a fry. The attention is unwanted and was even worse when they had something that separated them from the rest. Something like an accent, a different skin colour, famous/infamous parents, style, or personality. For Ben, he claimed what separated him from the rest was his overweight body.

That was why as soon as Arlene Hanscom's 1989 wood panel Ford Station Wagon passed the worn-down sign that read 'Welcome to Derry!' in white cursive font against a forest landscape, Ben wanted to turn back and go home. The unfamiliarity of the new town crawled through his body like spiders on a web. He was never one for adventures, he preferred to stay at home and watch the next episode of Seinfeld than go outside and scour into the unknown parts of his old town. And chances were, Derry wouldn't be any different, so what was the point of moving?

He suspected it had something to do with his father, but his death was years ago and both Ben and his mother had moved on. Plus, things were stable back at home. Sure, Ben didn't exactly have any friends but he didn't want any and he considered himself lucky. If he went anywhere else, the constant fat-shaming would overflow his ears with insecurity. One of the things his mother said to him to cheer him up was that a new town could be his chance to take the leap and make a friend. Ben remembered laughing hysterically on the inside at the prospect of that. He believed that in no reality would he ever be able to find someone who wanted to be friends with a fat kid. No one bullied him at school, but no one wanted to be his friend either. It was a fantasy and nothing more.

Still, Arlene persisted and told him what was on the inside mattered. Ben looked down at his stomach when she said that. _That's kind of hard to see considering the outside is the first thing you notice and you have to get past it to get a mere glimpse of the inside,_ he thought _._ Still, he appreciated his mother's attempts, he knew he was lucky to have someone like her.

Driving down the streets of Derry was rather peaceful for him if you could believe it. Just outside his window, a girl had her blonde locks up in pigtails and sang a soft tune as her tricycle carried her down the sidewalk. Behind her, a couple of boys his age were throwing a football back and forth, having a conversation. Ben relaxed his shoulders before a dark-skinned boy came in their direction on his bike with a bunch of red packages. The two boys with the football threatened to throw it at him if he didn't keep riding faster. Ben turned away as their mouths started to form the letter 'n'. He had never heard of Derry before nor had he been to Maine but if he didn't know any better, he would assume he was smack dab in the middle of Southern America.

The buildings made up for it, though. The stores were tightly packed together and gave off the impression that the people who owned their respective stores were good friends with the other. A picnic area caught his eye quickly, large groups of people enjoying the scent of sizzling meat coming out of their barbecues. Ben made a mental note not to go anywhere near there, the area was too condensed. He would be asking for attention if he set foot on just the grass. Internally, he shook his head and trailed his eyes away. They latched onto a Chinese restaurant, titled Jade of the Orient, a place his mother would probably drag him to. Not that he didn't like Chinese food, but there was a sinking feeling from the thought of other teens judging him being there to wipe out the whole buffet.

To make the thought worse, his mother pointed out his high school just down the road. Ben grimaced and decided to focus on the movie theatre across the street instead, watching kids of all ages pounding the buttons and joysticks of their respective games. To actually go inside there would be impossible for Ben, even the thought caused his brain to signal a series of shivers through his nervous system. Nothing he had seen since his mother drove into town spoke to him, this town wasn't made for him. What drew his mother here again?

Ben slumped into his seat and adjusted his hair before leaning his head on the glass. It looked like he would be spending time in his house just like he did back home.

And that would've been the case if he didn't see the library.

His head perked up like a deer would when it heard a strange noise, his eyes as big as a doe's. It was much bigger than the one he had at home, white and pristine like a miniature White House in his eyes. Better yet, the density around the area was low, probably because it was summer but his mind was too cloudy to care. All he could think was how he could spend his time there whenever his mother forced him to get out of the house. The library could be his hideout.

"Ben, don't even think about it," Arlene said out of nowhere. The claim that all mothers were mind-readers was always a possibility to Ben.

"What?" He asked.

"As soon as I park this car, you will take your bike and go somewhere that is _not_ the library." She made a turn to Center street.

"Who said I was thinking of going there?"

"Oh please. Ben, seriously."

"No, Mom I swear! I was looking at the statue," Ben said, glancing at the white marble statue that was:

"Right next to the library?" Arlene said incredulously. Ben slouched in defeat. "We have moved and we're starting fresh, okay? No more old Ben, who... who sits in his room all day, reading about anything to get away from human interaction."

"I've actually been reading about codes," Ben muttered and his mother rolled her eyes.

"See, this is what I mean. When will codes be useful in the near future?"

"The cold war."

"The cold war ended three years ago."

"The Soviet Union still exists."

"Not for long—you're changing the subject, Benny." Arlene takes one hand off the wheel and wipes her brow. Ben never liked to pressure his mother, but she didn't seem to understand that Ben was just an introverted person. He's had two or three friendships as a kid, yet they never held the emotional weight he thought they were supposed to. Maybe he didn't find the right people, maybe he was looking in the wrong place. But regardless, Ben lost hope. "All I'm saying is you're a special kid. With all the knowledge you gather, you deserve to share it with someone."

"I know." He didn't.

"Even if you don't find anyone when you go out today. School is the perfect opportunity to make friends."

All Ben could do was look out the window, dreaming of a world where someone liked him. What a world that would be.

-

Ben brought the hood of his sweater closer to his neck as it was the closest thing he could get to putting it over his head fully. A teacher told him to take it off as soon as he walked in the school, then two students who walked by chuckled to themselves and called Ben a dumbass under their breath. Now, maybe if he did what his mom told him to do two weeks ago, Ben wouldn't be so nervous under the gaze of those two asshole students. But Ben didn't do that.

His mother took the liberty of dropping Ben off at Stanford park every other day before school started to walk around and get acquainted with some people. The movie theatre wasn't too far and the school was waiting to be explored just farther down Pasture road. But the library was in the opposite direction, down Center Street.

So of course, Ben went the opposite way.

And he continued to do so until the first day back to school.

Shocker, no kids liked to hang out in the library during the summer so Ben made friends with the librarian, Mrs. Starrett. She was a very cranky old woman with blondish-gray hair and a tendency to lose her dentures, who kept asking why she never saw him with another boy or girl by his side. Ben dodged the question so many times, the librarian gave up. Who was she to tell him he needed friends? He had done just fine without them.

At least that's what he thought before he entered school. After he put his headphones on and hunched his shoulders as a method to seem invisible, he considered how nice it would be for someone to show him the ropes. However, his shy stance and silence prevented him from asking anyone where simply his homeroom was. Instead, it caused a myriad of people to bump into him which had sent Ben from one side of the hallway to the other.

Luckily he had his brain on his side and successfully found his homeroom on the second floor with five minutes to spare. No one was in class but he sat anyway, taking a seat in the middle row of the room right next to the window. He timidly took his headphones off but kept his shoulders hunched. I must look like the hunchback of Notre Dame right now, he thought.

The outside chatter of students behind the doors filled Ben's stomach with dread. Suddenly, he pictured a person next to him. They were telling Ben about their summer and laughed at the fact Ben couldn't pick up one of his mom's boxes that were only filled with makeup supplies. A friend. Someone to share your deepest fears and regrets. Someone to lift you when you're feeling like you hit the obsidian of the earth. Did Ben want that?

His thoughts were interrupted by multiple students flooding into the classroom, talking to _their_ friends and making sure to sit next to one another. Ben scooted to the edge of his seat, towards the window and looked out of it, avoiding eye contact. He didn't want anyone to believe he was staring at them.

Once the bell rang, he counted down the minutes until that bell rang once again.

The teacher walked in a minute after the bell, coffee balancing loosely in her hand, briefcase in another. To Ben's surprise, no one laughed and watched in pity as she patted down her bangs and adjusted her dress. He couldn't help but match the expression of his other schoolmates as she seemed new and naive like she was getting herself into a whole mess of new things. A small smile crept on his lips to know he wasn't alone in this new environment. And though she had a rough start, she picked herself up and confidently introduced herself as well as thoroughly went over the curriculum to them.

Ben relaxed his shoulders more and more as the class went on, noticing how silent and attentive the class was. Even people who had their friends sitting beside them simply passed notes to each other to communicate and weren't disrupting the session in front of them. Ben appreciated that. Once class was over, Ben had a more positive outlook on what his experience would be like here. Maybe he would have a good time, after all.

-

All good things must come to an end. But did it have to end that quickly?

There were many ways the situation Ben found himself in could've gone; running away was an option, violence was an option, telling the teacher was an option. All of them provided challenges but a greater chance of escape. Ben didn't do any of that though since they required the tiniest ounce of dignity for himself. He had none. It was at this point Ben cursed his timid nature and reluctance to calm down the situation so it didn't turn into more than what it had to be. In his old school, he was never the cause or victim of a fight because he knew better than to provoke other students. He never broke one up either, he liked his face just the way it was.

It seemed here, however, it didn't matter what you were doing. Whether you intruded or not, whether you started it or not, you were destined to be in a fight.

That was why Ben's focus kept leaping in and out, trying to grasp onto an object to bring him back to reality. There was a faint sound of laughter mixed with muffled gasps as if he was trapped in a cave. And to put the bow on the present, there was something hot trickling down his pulsing nose. But despite the fact he was in limbo, he remembered how he got where he was.

The bell had rang for lunch, ending Ben's second period of the day. He held a bright smile on his face, ecstatic to eat the lunch his mother packed for him. It was the leftovers they ordered from McDonald's a few days ago which Ben had to restrain himself from eating so he could have something for school. His mom planned to cook something homemade but she was low on money for groceries considering she had started her new job a week ago. Ben loved her cooking but he wasn't complaining about McDonald's. Plus she had promised him her signature lasagna the next day so what was there to be sad about?

He was so excited to eat those famous fries, he pulled it out prematurely and held it close to his chest, walking close to the side of the halls to avoid attention. He guessed that's what drew the blond in the red tank top to him, he was trying too hard not to be seen. Still, Ben knew he was in for trouble when he heard: "They let farm animals into this school?"

Ben flickered his eyes up to look around for the culprit of those words, unsure if they were talking about him. A butterfly grazed his stomach before he did the same hood-to-the-neck tactic and walked faster.

"Hey. Hey! I'm talking to you, piggy!" The deep obnoxious voice shouted then proceeded to mockingly snort in Ben's direction. He almost felt his eyes well up but blinked them away as fast as he could.

Suddenly, Ben felt pressure on his throat until his entire body was yanked to the floor. His headphones made a clattering sound but his Walkman was still safely stored in his sweater's pocket. He couldn't say the same for his notebooks and his poor fries, scattered across the floor and far away from his reach. He turned around to see the aforementioned blond boy laughing maniacally as three boys joined the chorus, kicking his books while they did so.

"Looks like this kid took the phrase 'new meat' a little too seriously," blond boy slapped Ben's cheek, causing the boy to lean away. "You should thank us for slapping those fries away. You might make the school collapse in on itself, piggy."

"J-Just leave me alone," Ben whimpered, crawling away. His whole body shivered when blond boy turned neutral, like a robot waiting for a command. Then, like lightning striking down upon him, he swung his fist directly at Ben's nose.

And that's how Ben found himself on the floor, vision blurry and utterly defeated. Hysterically thinking, he never thought his death would be something triumphant so he was content dying right where he laid. At least he tried to stand up for himself even if it was a weak statement. Hopefully, heaven would accept him. He even saw an angel so that was a good start.

Maybe, it was the fact his eyes were watery but he swore there was a halo over the girl's head, shining over her fiery red ember curls and milky white skin. Her face was covered with tiny dots that Ben mistook for visual kisses. God had blessed her dozens of times. Even her voice sounded like Heaven's choir with the slightest bit of rasp around the edges. There was no way someone like this existed in the real world, the afterlife had surely taken his soul.

"Excuse me?" The angel said, bringing back Ben's vision. He hummed in a daze, shaking his head to get rid of the throbbing pain of his nose. Immediately he thought, _If I'm in Heaven, how the fuck am I feeling pain right now?_

Shit, he was still alive.

"I grabbed your books for you... new kid. Henry's gone but he might come back." One thing hadn't changed, there was still an angel in front of him.

Her ocean-blue eyes pierced into his honey browns, demanding attention. She gave him a tight-lipped smile and pulled him to his feet, causing the boy to blush in both thanks and embarrassment. He had a bloody nose, his hair was frazzled, his clothes were bunchy (he instinctively pulled his sweater down to cover as much belly as possible), he probably looked like a trainwreck to her. His mind was occupied though, he didn't care what he looked like. He could be dressed in a trash bag and still take the time to admire the girl. Lovestruck wasn't a word that was very familiar to Ben, but it seemed to apply perfectly in this situation. _Calm down, lover boy. You just met her._

"Oh- uh, thank you," Ben said groggily as she gave the stack of books back. She proceeded to tuck the strand of hair sticking out of her ear that Ben so desperately wanted to do for her. Too bad he's not James Bond.

"You probably want to get your nose checked out. The nurse's office is near the entrance." The angel pointed before looking behind her urgently. She sighed and rolled her eyes to herself, making Ben express confusion. "I really don't mean to be leaving you like this but I got my own bully I gotta avoid. But! Seek me out, okay?"

Pressured but calm, Ben nodded. The angel set off in the opposite direction he was going but walked backwards, keeping her gaze with him. "See you, new kid!"

"Uh, Ben!" He called and she smiled.

"Call me Bev." Then she disappeared.

Ben engraved that name into his head and made a vow never to forget it.

-

Ben spent his time after school with the one friend he had, the librarian. God kept blessing him as the library was on the trail home, a small detour but more than worth it. After his unfortunate visit to the nurse's office, he received an ice pack and a set of instructions to help the swelling go down. It was safe to say he wasn't sleeping on his side for the next three weeks. Anyways, he had spent the rest of the day after lunch reading his book from the library while sitting in the back row of each class. He got caught every time since he couldn't look down and apologized for doing so before going right back to the words on the page to the best of his ability. No teacher or nose injury could stop him from learning about mathematical puzzles, especially from the great Martin Gardner. There was another book he had of his called 'Codes, Ciphers, and Secret Messages,' that Ben obsessed himself with before he moved to Derry. If you were to ask him where the sudden interest of codes came from, he'd say he had no idea.

It was like some omniscient presence implanted the idea in his head. He didn't believe in that kind of stuff but he knew something was watching over him so he guessed he should thank whatever was up there because man, these codes were interesting. The only problem is his copy of the book was missing a few pages. The table of contents mentioned The Rail Fence cipher, The Pigpen cipher, Ink that develops while heated and Caesar's cipher but they were nowhere to be found in his book.

Fortunately, he saw another copy in the library but decided to read Gardner's other books first before he went back to the codes, and boy was it a lot of reading. Don't get me wrong, Ben liked to read but only because of the information he received. If he could simply look at a book's cover and know everything about it, he'd stab the dragon's heart to obtain it.

Passing by the Paul Bunyan statue, he recognized the boy he vaguely remembered being called Bill. Ben saw a multitude of people patting his back and saying they were sorry. What were they sorry for? Ben had no idea and by the looks of how Bill's posture slumped on a particularly large bike, Ben thought it was for the best not to bother him. He probably wasn't looking for friends anyway.

Arriving at Derry's Public Library, Ben sniffed in that old book smell he was slowly familiarizing himself with. The place was filled with people of all ages in their respective areas, but there was a clear higher percentage of older people present than teens. Ben didn't mind, tapping the 'dreaming is believing' cat poster. Mrs. Starrett really loved her motivational posters and made sure to hang them up on every flat surface she could find.

"Oh, hi Ben!" Speaking of which.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. S," Ben said, pulling out his book. "I wanna return the book."

"Did you finish it— oh my!" Mrs. Starrett put her wrinkly hand over her heart at the sight of Ben's face. The swelling didn't feel as bad as before but it didn't look like his face showed any visual signs of healing based on her reaction. "What happened?"

"Some kid named Henry," Ben shrugged, folding in on himself. The name perked Mrs. Starrett's face as she clicked her tongue in disappointment.

"That Bowers boy is always looking for trouble." She said. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't really want to talk about it," Ben replied saying he took his book out and placed it in Mrs. Starrett's hands. She looked down at the book then back up at Ben in shock.

"I read it during class," Ben shrugged.

She furrowed her gray eyebrows, "You didn't converse with anyone?"

Ben shook his head.

"Oh, Ben." Mrs. Starrett sighed and placed the book in the pile of returned items, then proceeded to walk to where she kept the code book since Ben asked her to save it for him. "Did you talk to _anyone_?"

Ben huffed but found his body soften at the thought of the angel who saved him. Her face burned itself into his mind, engraving it in his memory. "I talked to one person. Her name was Bev."

"Bev? As in Beverly Marsh?" Mrs. Starrett walked back towards Ben with the item in hand. He shrugged in response, a small blush on his cheeks at the mention of a name like that. A pretty name for a pretty girl.

"She's got the red hair, yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah, that's Beverly Marsh. She's a nice girl. You fond of her?"

Ben's stomach flipped, "I don't know, I talked to her for like ten seconds."

Granted, he found out they shared a class but some other guys went to sit near her before him. Even worse, they were harassing her for the whole class and while Ben tried to step in, Beverly just shook her head. He didn't know why but he accepted her wishes, his last desire would be to pressure her.

Mrs. Starrett took a close look at Ben, kissing her teeth as she observed his movements. He felt like he was placed in an interrogation room with the bright light shining on him. "Your face begs to differ."

Ben touched his face then proceeded to rub the blush away. He didn't have a crush on Beverly, there was no reason for him to be blushing. Sure, he thought she was pretty but he didn't know anything about her other than the fact she was kind enough to help him. That wasn't enough to warrant blushing. It's absurd.

"Anyway, here's your book." She said nonchalantly, giving him his library card as well. Ben pursed his lips, hoping the blush went away as he opened the book to the lost pages that weren't in his original copy. He skimmed over the text and smiled at the new set of information ready to be planted inside his mind. His thumb fluttered the pages to the end where the slot and card were to take out the book. However, instead of a piece of lined paper, he found a slick black card in its place. Furrowing his eyebrows, Ben took it out and traced his thumb over the outline of a white turtle then flipped it over to see what he thought was supposed to be a code.

**YBK**

**MIXZB LK QXYIB**   
****  
**7**

"Mrs. Starrett?" Ben called, examining the card front to back. The way the texture felt on his hands was surprisingly satisfying.

"Yes?"

"Is this a part of the book?" He asked, causing her to narrow her eyes as he held it up to her vision. She put up her pointed glasses and inspected it like Ben before, then pursed her lips and shrugged.

"I guess so, I've never read this book. But it's a code, isn't it?" She gave the card back to him.

"Gosh, my copy was a bust," Ben muttered to himself as he walked away to a lone table. As soon as he opened the book, he began to immerse himself into it, all sound drowning around him. The library was quiet anyways, so the job wasn't too hard. And it prevented him from hearing the joyous laughter of kids living their life with their friends. Ben had read a lot of fictitious books, but the prospect of having other people to share everything with was the most fictional thing he had ever heard of. 


	4. Beverly Marsh

As much as you saw, fourth graders cringing when being taught how babies are made, eighth graders shifting in their seats when having conversations about their bodies changing in various ways and the constant plugging of the ears from ninth graders when learning about safe sex, when the time came, teens loved puberty. Not just because of the desire to go out and experiment with their sexuality but because it was a sign they were growing up. Whether it was a girl checking the mirror to see if her breasts had gotten bigger or a guy checking if his cock grew two inches, it was an exciting time for adolescents. 

Still, that meant puberty came with hardships too. Jealousy among teens was a given, especially in relationships where it seemed everyone else had something more mature and appealing than you. Bullying planted itself in every corner, and even worse it was a double edged sword. If you had too much facial hair, it was unattractive. If you had too little, you were considered a baby. You could have sexual urges but if you acted on them, you were a slut yet if you hadn’t kissed or made out with anyone, you were a prude.

And all of these hardships were usually geared towards certain people, someone who usually minded their business, kept to themselves, never bothered anyone. They were easy to make fun of and make rumours about because people knew they would never say anything about it. Usually, they were too ugly in everyone’s eyes or too beautiful. 

According to the entire student body in Derry high school, Beverly Marsh was too beautiful. 

She never thought much of herself. She knew she was a decent looking person, though not to the extent everyone else looked at her as. But she was still an insecure teen as she thought her freckles were permanent dirt on her face, her red hair was too noticeable and her body looked like it could break with one touch. Beverly ate a good amount but for the first fifteen years of her life her body refused to grow. Her breasts were too small, her curves were nonexistent and her period had yet to show itself. It wasn’t until the sixteenth year and more specifically the summer of that year that she started to see a change. 

After a long conversation with herself, Beverly decided to cut her hair. It was only part of her body that was considered womanly to everybody else. Everytime she set foot out of her door, she couldn’t get through the day without one person commenting on how lucious her red locks were and how much of a woman she was. Beverly hated that.

She was probably one the teens in the minority who hated puberty. And she had her environment to blame for it.

Alvin Marsh was a scary man. The kids at school looked at him as if he were a vampire when they passed him in the halls wearing his signature janitor uniform. He garnered the nickname ‘Mystery Marsh’ because of his sketchy looks at students, especially the girls. Like they were born to, rumours spread around about people he may have kidnapped or extreme cases, raped. The most believed rumour was he was the person stealing and murdering all the kids who went missing. Some of those rumours involved Beverly but most people refused to believe it. One girl, Sally Mueller always said “It’s like he’s undressing me with his eyes.” And Beverly would hate to agree but she did. And not only would she agree but she would add that Alvin Marsh didn’t just undress her with his eyes.

It only happened twice this year, once in early spring and once during summer vacation. Beverly never talked or thought about it, but it didn’t stop the nightmares from walking into her dreams. She taught herself to stop screaming when she woke up from them so she wouldn’t disrupt her father’s sleep. Whenever someone touched her, especially a boy, she had the tendency to flinch away from it as her eyes welled up in terror. She wore more baggy clothes to hide bruises or marks on her body. And she had a tendency to check if any part of her had grown so she knew what to cover up more.

She didn’t want to feel that way about maturing but she thought of it as an obligation for her own safety. That was why she decided to cut her hair as much as she loved her long locks, she had an obligation to do so. However, after she cut it, the omniscient presence from up above decided to punish her for it. 

Firstly, she got her period the very next day and while she was a little freaked out, school had educated her properly and gave the girls in her class tampon samples to use and examine just in case the shark decided to make an appearance. Then, a month into summer Beverly noticed her hips had gotten wider, cursing her with newfound curves. And while she admitted she looked nice with them, she knew the looks going her way would amplify to eleven. And lastly, on the very first day of school she decided to wear the loose sundress she had been wearing for as long as she could remember. It was frumpy and one size larger than her body, perfect for hiding everything her body had to offer. At least that’s what it was until the end of summer.

It  _ fit _ perfectly on her body. Perfectly.

Her hips were accentuated, her slim legs were on full display, her waist seemed tinier and her breasts seemed bigger. The first instinct was to take the dress off and wear her dungarees instead but she realized she put them in the washer the night before. She couldn’t wear jeans, it was too hot outside and wearing shorts felt too uncomfortable compared to the dress.

Beverly’s head fell in her hands as she groaned in frustration, readying herself for the day she was about to endure. 

And you may think that this is the most first-world problem you ever heard. But let me make it clear that Beverly wasn’t annoyed by being too pretty, she was scared for her safety. Because when you live in Derry, Maine, you tend to hear statements like, “It must’ve been something you were wearing?” “You were probably asking for it,” and “Boys will be boys.” And the more she heard comments like that, the more she believed it.

She couldn’t control what happened with her father and she was afraid the same would go for the entire male population of Derry.

-

Beverly’s dress clung to her like wet socks the closer she got to school. The hot beading sun drew out the sweat in her body, pulling the cloth to her skin like a baby would to a blanket. She picked at it for the entire walk and pulled her dress down even more. Thinking back on it, wearing her wet dungarees would've been the better choice.

Things were infinitely worse at school as the stares from her male schoolmates piled on top of the clinging problem. One of her tactics was wrapping her arms around her torso and keeping her head down but nothing could shield her from the predators around her. Looking up for a second, she made contact with one boy, Chris Quinn, a senior held back two times and watched as he licked his lips at the sight of her. Beverly’s ocean eyes sunk immediately, slouching her posture more and walking to her homeroom as quickly as possible.

She was happy to know her teacher was Mrs. Douglas, a strict and firm woman. Beverly admired her take-no-shit attitude. Even the most disrespectful bullies like Henry Bowers listened to her because of how afraid of her he was. Her class was probably the safest place for Beverly to be, sometimes more than her own house. And though Mrs. Douglas was strict, she was kind and she made Beverly feel good to be a woman.

Her class was informative, relaxed and reassuring, Beverly almost loved it. Almost. Unfortunately, there were some dumb boys in the back making the dumbest jokes followed by the most obnoxious laughs. Most of them were “that’s what she said,” after Mrs. Douglas said something only the most horny could connect with sexual acts. But it was biology so almost everything looked could be mistaken for sex. And whenever Mrs. Douglas asked the class if they had questions, they’d ask something about female genitalia. It happened so much, Beverly cringed whenever they merely raised their hand.

It finally stopped when Mrs. Douglas threatened to make sure they couldn’t sign up for any school teams if they kept up their shenanigans. They shut up almost immediately and started whispering to each other out of Mrs. Douglas’s ear range. Beverly smiled to herself, silently cheering on her official favourite teacher. She could only dream of having an  _ ounce _ of her confidence, maybe then she would never have to take the shit she took so often. Maybe then, she could say what she wanted to when that note appeared on her desk.

According to Mark Listus behind her, he said it was from Aaron or as Mark called him, “Delinquent #1.” Beverly asked why and Mark shrugged before adjusting his glasses and focusing on Mrs. Douglas again. Beverly felt her stomach flip when she opened the note, licking her suddenly dry lips.

_ Meet me outside the school at lunch? _

Beverly looked behind her to see Aaron’s gaze locked on her location already. He winked and bit his bottom lip then leaned back and spread his legs. Beverly had to stop herself from gagging, shifting in her seat. She felt her dress sink and pulled it to cover her body more. There was no need to send a note back so she shook her head while looking at Aaron instead and turned back around, rubbing her shivering arms. Soon enough, another note came her way, handed to her by Mark once again.

_ C’mon, you can’t wear something like that and not want some action. _

This particular note made Beverly fume, her face matching the colour of her hair. It was exactly what she was afraid of, one of her favourite dresses was now classified as an invitation for boys to take advantage of her. She made a mental note to burn the dress when she went home, then bury its ashes in the ground. She turned around for what she hoped was the last time, held the note up and ripped it to shreds before crumbling its remnants in her hands. His friend beside him snickered and nudged Aaron as the latter rolled his eyes and hit him back. Beverly huffed and crossed her arms, thankful for the absence of notes for the rest of class.

-

Beverly massaged her shoulders after putting her belongings in her new locker, instinctively pulling down her dress which she had been doing since she walked out of her first period class. She had already packed her lunch and she wouldn’t be caught dead at the cafeteria so she decided going to the front of the school to smoke was the best idea for herself. The only person she knew who did the same was Richie Tozier, some loudmouth class clown she shared a few classes with in the past years. She’d never tell him but he was pretty funny when he tried and though she never liked disruptions in class, a few chuckles would escape her lips from his jokes.

They never had a full conversation with each other, mainly because she preferred the back of the school while he preferred the front. But after Aaron’s note, it was probably a sign for change. She could use a friend to talk to anyway, even if it was another boy. She didn’t hate boys, she just had a strong dislike for them, but there were exceptions also known as a crush. She never liked to think of it as anything more because he didn’t really notice her but maybe this year, she’d make an attempt, an effort to at least befriend him. 

Beverly slammed her locker shut with one hand that was carrying her lunch as the other continued to massage her shoulders. She leaned her head to one side and let out a deep sigh, praying for the clock to run faster. Suddenly, she felt another hand on her shoulder, massaging it just like she did to herself. Beverly flinched and turned around, slamming her back against the locker. There was a sharp pain bursting on her scapula, making her face squeeze in discomfort.

“Woah, jumpy much?” A strident voice said. Beverly rolled her eyes and looked up to see Aaron blocking the light around her. He must’ve grown over the summer, she didn’t remember him being that tall.

“You can’t touch someone without their permission,” Beverly said timidly, shrinking under his gaze.

“You looked helpless, I was trying to help.”

“Okay,” was the only thing Beverly could think of saying before she tried to walk off. Unfortunately, Aaron slapped his hand on the locker, trapping her in.

“Woah woah, where are you going? I thought we had plans?” He asked, tilting his head.

“I said no. Now please let me leave.”

“No, I didn’t hear you say no.”

“I shook my head and ripped your note. What else do you need?” Beverly furrowed her brows. 

“That was hard to get,” Aaron waved his hand. “I always go after girls like you. The feisty ones.”

“I’m not feisty. Just leave me alone.” Beverly tried to leave again but Aaron put his hand up in response. She felt her heart race, begging her to break free.  _ I shouldn’t have worn this dress.  _ She thought.

“It won’t take long. We’ll be outside for a few minutes. It’s not like you don’t want it.”

“I don’t—”

“You can’t wear this dress and say you aren’t asking for it.” He put his hand on her waist, causing Beverly to slap it away immediately. She saw a glimpse of her father in front of her, his unsettling gaze caressing her face. Her heart jumped in fear, jolting her hands to push him away from her.

“Get off!” She exclaimed, her chest heaving up and down. After a few seconds, her breaths slowed down as she watched Aaron furrow his brows in confusion. 

“Jesus,” he muttered.

Beverly tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and started to walk away before being greeted by the last person she wanted to see. 

Beverly never knew what she did to Greta Keene to make her hate her so much and trying to understand was a lost cause. At first, Beverly tried compassion to mend the tear between her and Greta. She tried talking to her in private, she tried making a peace offering (her sixth grade teacher recommended it. Greta smashed it in front of Beverly) and she tried simply killing her with kindness but nothing worked. She gave up when Greta started the rumour that she let Henry do ‘stuff’ to her in the forest near Bassey Park in seventh grade. After that, Beverly lost any respect or kindness towards Greta and fully accepted that they were bound to be enemies. All Beverly hoped for was not to do anything to get Greta riled up, but that didn’t stop her from trying to stand up for herself.

“What the fuck are you doing with my boyfriend, Marsh?” Greta asked, gesturing to Aaron. As if Beverly’s day could get any worse.

“He—”

“She was asking me to meet me outside the school, babe.” Aaron said, walking over to Greta and wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“What? No I wasn’t!” Beverly defended, butterflies fluttering their wings in her stomach.

“You just can’t resist from being a little slut, can you?” Greta raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t do anything. He came onto me—”

“You really think I’m going to take your words over my own boyfriend’s?” Greta said as she walked over to Beverly, standing in her personal space. “I’ve ruined your reputation once, I can do it again. Stay away from him..”

Beverly bit her cheek and shook her head in defeat, walking away from Greta as fast as she could. She lifted up her middle finger to Aaron and told him to go fuck himself before escaping their gaze at the staircase. She felt the flames in her hair fume the rest of her body as she travelled down the stairs but a small tear escaped the ocean in her eyes, tired of the constant slander. 

There were days she could take it, but that wasn’t everyday. Sometimes she needed a break. She wanted to smile and laugh and be free to cry without any judgement and without any fear. But evil never slept and it never took breaks. The fact it followed her everywhere made her think what the point of anything was anymore. Derry sucked, she knew that ever since she was born and she wanted to leave for as long as she could remember. There was no reason to stay, if there was she wouldn’t want to leave but the days never seemed to shine bright, not on her at least. 

Her thoughts were muddled and cloudy as she made her way through the halls, pushing past students to get outside. She had no desire to pay attention to anyone or anything, she wanted to put her well-being first. She was angry, tired, upset, all of the negative emotions gift-wrapped in a pathetic present addressed to her mental state. And she cursed her good nature for stopping when she caught a glimpse of a boy being knocked down. She didn’t like confrontation and she didn’t like overstepping but she hated bullies more. 

She squinted her eyes for a better look at the scene, catching a crucial detail that helped her with identification. It didn’t matter where she was, she could spot Henry’s ugly mullet from anywhere. Being within ten feet of him garnered horrid thoughts which would make her state ten times worse than it already was but she’d beat herself up for hours if she didn’t step in. Sighing, she pushed past the crowd to find a boy she had never seen before on the ground. His headphones, books and lunch were splattered all over the floor and his poor nose was bleeding.

“Henry!” Beverly called, making her way into the circle as Henry occupied himself in kicking the boy’s belongings.

“Oh, look who it is!” Henry grinned. “Ms. Slut in the flesh. Came back for round two?”

“I heard Mrs. Douglas is on her way. A student said she pissed already,” Beverly said, crossing her arms. She did her best to hide her distaste at his comment and he helped by expressing terror at the mention of Mrs. Douglas’s name.

“Shit! Let’s go,” Henry said, gathering his goons.

“What about fat boy?” Patrick asked.

“We‘ll get him another time. Let’s go.” Henry pushed Patrick who put his hands up in surrender and turned around as Victor and Belch ran away, laughing. Beverly rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the boy on the ground. Her first instinct was to grab his stuff apart from the fries, those were unfortunately a lost cause. She organized them in her arms then bent down to the boy’s level.

“Excuse me?” She asked, reluctant to reach out to him. She didn’t want to hurt him more than he already was. His words were unintelligible, making her furrow her eyebrows. She decided to keep talking.

“I grabbed your books for you,” She realized she still didn’t know his name and she knew every kid in the school, they weren’t that big in numbers. He looked too old to be a freshman too.“—new kid. Henry’s gone but he might come back.”

The boy still didn’t respond so Beverly thought the only thing she could do was help him up. She gave him an encouraging smile which he seemed to respond to with glowing cheeks. Things were a little awkward for her as he didn’t respond for a lifetime, he only stared as if he was trapped in some kind of daze. She couldn’t blame him though, he was punched in the face. It wasn't until he blinked that he returned to reality.

“Oh uh thank you,” He finally said, causing Beverly to look down awkwardly and play with her hair before realizing she still had his books. She passed it to him, watching as more blood trickled down his nose.

“You probably want to get your nose checked out. The nurse’s office is near the entrance.” She pointed but her attention briefly turned behind her as she swore she heard Greta’s voice. She didn’t want to leave the kid alone but the last thing she wanted to do was deal with Greta again and lord knows she’d make fun of the boy too if she saw Beverly with him. The best choice was for him not to be around her. “I really don’t mean to be leaving you like this but I got my own bully I gotta avoid. But! Seek me out, okay.

Thankfully, the boy nodded which made her feel less uncomfortable for leaving him so abruptly. She began jogging away backwards and hollered, “See you new kid!”

“Uh, Ben!”  _ Cool name,  _ She passively thought.

“Call me Bev!” She turned a corner, smiling at the prospect of a potential acquaintance. He looked pretty lonely and Beverly could use a friend, she really did hope Ben would seek her out. Sadly, she didn’t have much time to think before the thought of escaping Greta filled her head. Going outside wasn’t the best place to hide, especially with Aaron’s accusations. She needed an enclosed space to hide in. A closet did guarantee safety but it was claustrophobic and it was basically her dad’s office. She cringed as she imagined her dad catching her in the closet, that location was a definite no.

A classroom was probably the best option. The first one that came to mind was Mr. Turner’s class since he always left the door open. He spent his lunches in the staff room and she knew he kept his third periods free because it was the best ‘quiet time’ for him, whatever the fuck that meant. So she didn’t have to worry about getting caught before lunch ended. Beverly made a beeline for his classroom, looking behind her one last time before spotting Room 3156.

She opened and closed the door as quickly as possible, looking out the window to see Greta walk right passed her. She sighed in relief and muttered, “God, I don’t like her.”

The class was quiet and hollow, the perfect place to spend the rest of her lunch. Every class came equipped with a smoke alarm but she knew how to dismantle them so she could still get away with a small smoking session. She was aware her habit was a problem but who was anyone to tell her to stop? It was an escape not an excuse.

She stayed in her spot, fully calmed down when she was greeted with another presence. “Hello?”

Beverly’s heart jumped and signalled her body to do the same as she turned around and saw a boy sitting in the dark at a desk. She almost assumed he was one of those emo kids, they usually did stuff like that. “Shit!”

Her eyes focused and narrowed on the boy before they widened in realization. She could recognize that slim figure, peachy skin, auburn locks and piercing steel blue eyes anywhere. She was in an empty classroom with Bill Denbrough, her crush.  _ Jesus Christ, kill me now,  _ She thought. Of all the empty classrooms in this two-story building, of all the hundreds of students who roam the narrow halls each and every day, she had to pick the one with the person she was infatuated with. 

“Sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in here. I—”

“It’s f-fuh-fine,” Bill’s deep soothing voice replied. Beverly’s stomach flipped as she melted to the floor, watching his auburn hair cascade down his face. The more she observed, the more information processed in her brain, a swell of remorse setting in her mind. She would be more comfortable with this situation if she didn’t know how broken he looked and probably felt. Bill’s brother was common knowledge to the entire town and she knew the last thing he wanted was for people to bombard him about it. Suddenly, it made more sense why he was in the classroom.

“Aren’t you Bill? Bill Denbrough?” She knew it was dumb to ask but she couldn’t think of anything else.

“Ye-Yeah.” His tone was enough for her to realize what he was waiting for. She decided to lighten the mood and chuckled.

“I’m not… gonna say it. You’ve probably heard it a million times. And by the looks of it, I think it’s been annoying for the entire day.” Her posture relaxed itself when she saw Bill lighten up to her presence. She silently thanked herself for picking the right words and he verbally thanked her for understanding. 

And from there, the conversation took off. She found it easy to talk to him, there was some reluctance but she expected it to happen. It almost felt like a dream to be talking to him, hearing about his preferences, what he liked to do (or used to) and how he thought of other students in the school. Hell, she could listen to him talk about tax trades for eight hours and she’d be fully engaged. Well almost fully engaged. The only thing that bothered her about the conversation was how distracting he himself was. While some people believed Beverly was too beautiful for her own good, she believed Bill was too beautiful for his good. She found herself dozing off on occasion when Bill would speak, focusing on the way his lips moved more so than what they were saying. Beverly was able to keep up, she was lucky she had a talent for keeping conversation but she slipped up once. It didn’t look like Bill noticed but she did when he was talking about his notebook and it took her a good ten seconds to respond. She tried to play it off as if she was taking a drag from her cigarette but in her mind, she wasn’t fooling anybody.

Other than that, however, she was successfully making friends with her crush, an opportunity she knew she couldn’t pass up. That’s why she immediately assured him she wasn’t going anywhere when the warning bell rang. “Are you gonna be here tomorrow?”

Bill pursed his lips and shrugged, “I d-duh-don’t know actually.”

Beverly felt her stomach twist. She wanted to see him again. “I’m gonna take that as a yes and hope for the best then.” She thought out loud.

“Cool,” he replied as he grabbed his belongings from his desk. Beverly had one foot out the door as she looked at her crush one last time. A smile automatically stuck to her face as she tried to reassure herself that she would see him again. It was the love-struck part of her that forced her to act the way she did, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t looking to date him as soon as possible but to merely be in his presence wouldn’t be too shabby.

“I’ll see you around,” Beverly waved.

“S-Suh-See you, Beverly.” 

Beverly had to leave as soon as possible so Bill wouldn’t see her blush when he said her name.

-

The rest of school wasn’t as eventful as the first half but the looks stayed prominent. Beverly couldn’t go through one class without one guy sending a sexual note or a predatory look and while she got them to stop them during class, it didn’t get rid of the pit in her stomach. Still, she was happy to know all boys in her school didn’t suck. Stanley Uris had accidentally opened a note addressed to her and spared her the disgust. He told Jorge, the culprit of the note, that he was a disgrace of a human being and he should learn to respect women more. Jorge responded by telling him to shut the fuck up and that he was a Christ killer. 

Beverly tried to defend him but Stanley said it wasn’t worth it. The annoyed energy she had after that interaction was the same energy she kept for the rest of the day. While there were mild increases like the aforementioned Stanley situation, finding out Ben was in her math class, Richie was in her drama class and the fact Bill waved at her at the end of the day when she was walking to her locker, they lasted a few seconds before someone else ruined it by a crude comment or a sensuous look. It would’ve been nice to make a connection with another girl to share her disgust with but they either didn’t like her or didn’t want to be associated with her. She’d never understand why but she supposed the world didn’t want her to have a girl to talk to about her thoughts and feelings. Maybe some day she’d find a girl to confide in but high school wasn’t the time for that.

For now, she was happy that school was done and she could take off her stupid dress and never wear it again. Thinking on that, she pulled it down once again as she inserted her combination on her lock. Luckily, none of her teachers gave her homework so she was free to do whatever she wanted for the rest of the day. Her dad didn’t come home until the early evening as his shifts started after school when everyone was gone. The unfortunate days were Mondays and Wednesdays when he worked a day shift and met Beverly at home as she spent her time near Macklin Street at the Civic Center, unless she got lazy and hung out at the City Center instead before she went home. She did everything in her power to avoid her dad, something she’d never thought a daughter would do.

As she took the lock off the locker and swung the door opened, a series of notes fell in front of her. A couple of students looked her away, causing the blood in her body to set in her checks. She cleared her throat and gathered them off the floor, setting them on her shelf. Most of them said ‘ _ SLUT,’  _ or  _ ‘LOSER,’  _ some of them were phone numbers with their names at the bottom and some were asking her to meet them in a private location. She cringed at all of them, finding the nearest trash can to dispose of them in. Once again, the thought of hating all boys flew back into her system as she walked back to her locker to find two more items.

One of them was another dumb note that she missed but the other was different. She threw the note away and examined the other item, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. It was a slick black card with a turtle outline on front and a series of letters on the back with one number on the bottom.

**YBSBOIV**

**MIXZB LK QXYIB**

**1**

Her first thought was that she was holding a business card but she had to criticize their terrible name choice. At least that’s what she thought its name was. She never paid attention in history so she couldn’t assume it was an ancient language and living in the town for so long allowed her to know all brands around the area, there were no brands with a turtle logo. Another assumption was someone put this in the wrong locker but everyone  _ just  _ received theirs on the first day and by the way all the other notes ended up in her locker, there was no way no one didn’t know this Beverly’s. 

She huffed in defeat and put the card in her small pocket. Whether or not this meant for her, she wanted to know more about it. There was something inside her that was motivated to find out what and who this card belonged to and she felt no other choice but to listen to it.

  
  
  



End file.
